Long Day
by Aki4
Summary: Hauled out into the light of day after almost two years and revised. Some violence, some angsting, insensitive Sanzo and a wee bit of fluff =)
1. Dead calm

Ok, it having been a good what, year and a half? since this fic was produced, I'd drifted away from Saiyuki into a hiatus and then other fandoms. *insert gasp of horror* Then boom, out of nowhere, inspiration hit and I wrote a fic. Which, at the moment, has three reviews. But since they're positive ones, I decided to haul this one and try to re-write it a little less crappily. (I don't think that's really a word, but boy, does it need to be.) Many thanks to UltraM2000, for pointing out sundry inaccuracies =)  
  
Long Day  
  
by Aki  
  
He was tired. Gods, what a long day. They'd spent it trekking through the woods after a quiet Sanzou, with rain dripping from his hair, his nose, squelching in his goddamned new leather boots which were now rank and ruined. Another glorious victory for the Sanzou-Ikkou. If he ever got Hakkai to write a book of their adventures he'd tell him to leave this part out, along with the  
  
jeepsickness and bugbites.  
  
Rain. It had to be rain, with two of the four of them as good as emotional barometers when it came to bad weather. And it wasn't even every rainy day that was bad. It just had to be this one. This adventure wanted editing, all right. More pretty girls and less crazy monks was what he needed. A quiet Sanzou was a dangerous Sanzou. A loud Sanzou was a dangerous Sanzou, except that at least you got a warning before the shot. And right now Sanzou was so quiet he'd opted to shut up rather than risk putting a word wrong. And all for what? They hadn't found the sutras or the band of youkai who'd stolen them. They'd found _this_ instead. Glaring like only inhuman eyes could, the prisoner huddled in the corner, skinnier than a weasel and looking twice as bad-tempered. That high-pitched growling reminded him of Goku's stomach and was beginning, accordingly, to get on his nerves. Someone was starting the questions again, and he realized with a start that it was Sanzou.  
  
"So, are you going to talk, or are we going to have to knock some holes in you to let all the  
  
stupidity out?" Sanzou's voice was smooth, but an edge to the question betrayed the absence of its usual indifference. Their captive, not knowing his (hers? it was hard to tell, under the loose-hanging rags) danger, grinned broken yellow teeth under the wiry mass that sprouted in tufts from its head. The Minus Wave had hit some harder than others, but this one looked like he'd started out ugly and then got creative.  
  
"_Does_ it talk?" He poked at it, and jerked back as the yellow snags snapped so close to his  
  
finger that he felt a fleck of spittle on his hand. "K'so!" He cuffed it on the side of the head, and then felt almost guilty as it snapped to one side. The glare and the high, whining snarl went on unbroken.  
  
"Bad dog." He scowled. "Sanzou, why are we wasting time with this--this-- " he had a sudden  
  
vision of red eyes looking back out of the mirror at him "--this prisoner if he doesn't know  
  
anything?"  
  
"Maa, maa," Hakkai said soothingly. "Gojyou, we are looking for a band of youkai, remember? And a fairly large one at that. If this one is a local, then most likely he'll have some idea of  
  
their whereabouts. We could save ourselves a wild goose chase tomorrow."  
  
He shrugged. "Suit yourselves. But I'm tired of my skin being wet and my throat being dry and if that pretty waitress back at the tavern doesn't mind, I'm going to do something about it." He  
  
was turning to go out, but trying to catch Sanzou's eye at the same time. It was bothering him,  
  
this quietness. Not that the monk was ever much for words, apart from giving orders and delivering death threats in different degrees of exasperation.  
  
Hakkai said it was because he was bound up in his own guilt and hurt and belief in unattachedness. Goku said it was because he let his fan and gun do the talking. He personally figured that the monk just had a very large chip on his shoulder and an even larger stick up his ass.  
  
But Sanzou hadn't said much, hardly anything at all, since they'd come across the temple. He'd seen the blonde pick his way over corpses as daintily as a girl stepping around puddles, but when they'd passed through the main hall and looked around the inner chambers, the man's jaw had tightened as if it were being winched.  
  
Not that he'd been alone. The brutality of the scene had hit them all in the guts. It was one of the few times that he was grateful for his bastard birth, the chance that had saved him from the effects of the Wave. Only one young boy had survived, had heard their voices--his and Hakkai's and Goku's--and come trembling out of his hiding place under the incense altar to tell them what had happened.  
  
When he'd come crawling towards them, ofuda still pasted on his back, begging them to avenge the temple, then the mouth had unwinched for a moment. It had given him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, the long white hand laying itself on the thin young shoulder shaking with sobs.  
  
"Don't worry," he'd heard him say, "We'll find them." There was something in the way he'd said  
  
it that had stopped the shaking, and as Hakkai led the lad out, murmuring calming words and  
  
checking him over for wounds, those eyes had been fixed on Sanzou in a look half fear, half faith.  
  
Those had been the last words they'd heard from him. He'd stood there quietly until Hakkai had returned from questioning the young disciple, whom they'd left with a sympathetic local  
  
magistrate. Then he'd stalked out into the rain, heading straight for the woods, not breaking  
  
his stride even when Goku called out, scrambling for his cloak and bounding after him. And  
  
Hakkai had thanked the magistrate and gone out as well and he'd let his long legs follow Hakkai, and that had been the four of them all day, a hun- tin' we-will-go. As if they could've tracked even Jiipu in the pouring rain.  
  
In a way, he supposed he should be grateful. If Hakkai hadn't noticed the little rat sneaking  
  
around after them, they'd all have drowned in their clothes. No one was about to tell Sanzou to give it up, that was certain. He just wasn't so sure that it had been worth the trouble of crashing through the dripping brush and nearly wrenching an ankle. It had swollen and chafed inside the wet boot and was throbbing steadily even now.  
  
Looking at their catch of the day, he was tempted to throw it back. As obviously as it was youkai, it was also stunted and half-crazed. It could have been just another scavenger, waiting for unwary travelers or a chance to pinch their packs. It certainly didn't look like it was capable of the crazy slaughter they'd seen at the temple; even the low-level warding at the door should've been capable of keeping it out.  
  
Bloody hell. There was a vicious, intelligent, _organized_ pack of youkai out there, and after a long, wet day they didn't have a clue where it was. He wanted to wash his hands of the whole business and the hell with Sanzou's psychological hangups. But there was also the disturbing possibility Hakkai had pointed out earlier, that the attack on the temple was a prelude to an assault on the village. The common tradesmen and farmers often relied on the monks' sutras and wardings to fend off creatures with evil intent. Never mind that it was usually the torches and the presence of greater numbers that actually kept them away; knocking out this prop had left them fearful and defenseless.  
  
Mulling that over, he stood still despite his declaration, looking almost absentmindedly at the  
  
captive, whose only movement now was the slow flexing of his bound claws behind the chair.  
  
The muzzle of Sanzou's revolver came up to rest just under the lowered chin. "Tell us what you  
  
know, and this will be easier on everyone."  
  
So quickly that he barely registered the action, the youkai lifted his head and spat. Sanzou  
  
wiped at his face with his free hand, keeping the other steady. His own grip on the shaku-jou  
  
tightened, but before he could say anything the captive burst into a string of screeches that  
  
gradually penetrated as words.  
  
"...and REKKAJA'll getcha, he'll getcha like he got'em, stupid filthy scroll-readers, ol' dried-up bloodless baldheads, tried ta curse US off this land, now you wanna come get us, wanna kill Rekkaja but he's safe, he's safe in a big cave, cave, it's secret, never find it never find it all die like the stupid monkssss--" the hiss cut off and a high laugh that felt like it was tearing through his eardrums took its place.  
  
He looked to Hakkai to see if he'd picked up anything out of the gabble. But Hakkai was looking without expression at Sanzou.  
  
And Sanzou was mad.  
  
No, not mad. And it wasn't fear either that twisted his long face and coiled in his violet eyes.  
  
Sanzou was pale and sweating and looked like he wanted to vomit. He'd never quite seen that look on the monk before. It bothered him, somewhere inside. And maybe that was why he didn't notice the claws picking through one of the ropes, until they'd ripped loose and torn aside the gun and were heading straight for Hakkai's throat.  
  
There wasn't even time to curse for their carelessness. Hakkai thrust his head back and the dirty claws just missed the precious branches in the throat, raking through the skin above the collarbone. Red blood sprang into the air, red as his eyes and vaguely he was aware that he'd thrust the butt-end of his weapon between the ribs. The scrawny body was weighing down the entire weapon and he dropped it, heard the chain clatter on the floor as the body fell back.  
  
The air rasped quietly with the sound of his breathing. He looked up. "You all right?"  
  
"Aa, it's nothing serious. I was careless, that's all." There was time for him to see that  
  
Hakkai was right, it wasn't serious, and to straighten up slowly.  
  
"CHIK'SHOU!"  
  
The word slammed around the walls of the cell, bouncing back at their ears as the blood began to pool slowly around the corpse, twisted on the chair in grotesque parody of the scene just moments ago. Sanzou's face was so tight it was hard to believe he'd shouted a second before. As he watched, somewhat bemused, flinty, unfamiliar eyes turned on him. The mouth never unwinched but the words got out somehow.  
  
"You brainless ass. The next time you decide to kill a captive before I'm done with him, let  
  
your _better_ half knock that idea right back into the empty hole that it came from."  
  
That wasn't so bad, shouldn't have been, except that Sanzou's eyes weren't half-lidded and Sanzou's tone wasn't sarcastic and-- "What the FUCK do you mean, BETTER HALF?!"  
  
No backing down, no imperious turning of the head, just words leveled at him like a gun. "What the fuck do you think I mean? He knew where they were, we heard him! But you didn't bother to think, just let your blood go to your head and stuck him like a pig, didn't you?"  
  
That did it. "Who fucking tied the ropes, huh? Hakkai's bleeding and you're whining about some half-wit murderer because I got him two seconds before you gave up on getting him to spill a mental map so you can get your fucking revenge!"  
  
"Both of you, calm down, this isn't necessary. He's already told us a name and that the  
  
hideout's in a cave, it shouldn't take too long--"  
  
"Trying to protect your own?"  
  
The hands were still half-risen in their usual plea, but Hakkai had stopped smiling.  
  
"How...dare you." The words came out in a low growl, almost a whisper. One thing to insult the half-breed bastard. In a way, he'd expected it. Could almost understand it. Might've even forgiven it by dinnertime, if the barmaid was friendly. But to turn that self-righteous sneer on Hakkai, Hakkai who screamed in his sleep nights when he couldn't forget who he'd been and what he was...  
  
It was an effort not to pull out the flat blade and run it through those robes, and because some part of him was worried that he would, he left it lying there and walked out of the cell. After a moment Hakkai followed him. A pained silence was left behind them, but he didn't care. 


	2. Don't Break

______  
  
"You should get over it, you know, he didn't mean it that way."  
  
"The hell he didn't!" he raged. "I happen to think that both halves of me are just fine, thank  
  
you, and I don't give a fuck if he's Buddha himself, he's got more blood on his hands than me and he's got NERVE telling me that my youkai side makes me a mindless killer!!"  
  
"Gojyou. You know he's not himself right now."  
  
He swung around. "Yeah? Then who the hell is he? Dammit, Hakkai, why aren't you mad at him?" The sight of the bandage did it again. "You know, I think he IS himself right now. I think that's what he really feels, the bastard. We can eat together and sleep together and goddamn save each other's lives but when the chips are down, there he stands, the one shining figure of humanity among a bunch of dirty youkai." The words tasted bad but felt right as they tripped and tumbled out of his mouth. "Damn monk."  
  
"Gojyou," and he wished that Hakkai didn't say his name like that, for all his gentle voice it always seemed to grab him by the ears and set him down again. "I am mad at him. But I feel sorry for him too."  
  
"Sorry?! For HIM?!"  
  
"He hates youkai." It was stated simply, almost blandly, and that made him even madder.  
  
"You think that's an excuse for what he said to y--"  
  
Hakkai's voice sliced in, cutting off the rest of his rant. "You weren't there, when he vouced for me before the Three. He trusted me with his life, and I saw how much it cost him."  
  
He reddened. Of course, he'd known about Sanzou's...sponsorship. But gratitude wasn't a weapon you used to stab someone in the back.  
  
His friend was still talking, his voice calm and serious. "Just think about what we saw earlier today."  
  
He thought about it. It was impossible not to; the scene flickered in his head with a clarity that he didn't want. He would probably dream about it at night. A niggling voice that squirmed beneath his anger said, And you think that Sanzou won't?  
  
Hakkai went on. "That boy who survived? He was probably around Sanzou's age when his Master was killed."  
  
Shit. He'd known that, too, but hadn't wanted to think about it, had just wanted the stifling silence to break.  
  
"Still," he said lamely, "that doesn't give him any excuse to-"  
  
"Gojyou."  
  
"...what."  
  
"You care about him too, don't you."  
  
"What? For that high-handed hypocrite who pretends to be a monk?!" He snorted.  
  
Hakkai looked at him. For a moment, he held that knowing, smiling green gaze. Then he looked away.  
  
"...fuck. Why'd you have to ask that?"  
  
It was hitting him again, how badly he needed a drink. Gods, what a long day. And he knew, the way Sanzou knew how to hurt, the way Hakkai knew how to soothe, that there were so many more to come.  
  
_______  
  
Epilogue, or, Where the Hell was the Monkey?  
  
_______  
  
He was stuck by the door, unsure of what he was hearing, but sure that something had gone very wrong. For once food was forgotten. It dangled from his fingers, his hard-earned prize wrested from the kitchens (not so hard once he'd told the scullery girl that he was with Gojyou.) Only minutes ago he'd been so hungry he thought he would die. Now his stomach was curled tight with apprehension.  
  
Something had happened. Gojyo was mad, not playing at all, and Hakkai was hurting, he could see it in the way he pulled himself in. The words lingered like a bad taste. A bunch of dirty youkai? Did he mean them? But if they weren't Gojyo and Hakkai and himself, Son Goku, if they were just youkai, and Sanzou hated youkai, then...  
  
His mind shied away from the enormity of the conclusion, but it was there, staring him in the face. He wasn't stupid, after all.  
  
Sanzou hated them. And if Hakkai was right (Hakkai was always right), Sanzou had always hated them. He'd gone off because he couldn't stand the thought of not eating for one minute more and Sanzou had let him go, had whacked him with the fan and told him he was useless and he'd grinned because it had never occurred to him that Sanzou hated youkai. All youkai. Including them.  
  
Including him.  
  
He'd never thought of himself as youkai, nor Hakkai nor Gojyou even though he and Hakkai wore the limiters and Gojyou had said something about his red hair, had never thought of Sanzou as human even though he was, because Sanzou was Sanzou and they were the Sanzou-Ikkou. Weren't they?  
  
Apparently not.  
  
He felt like he was choking. Sanzou hated him. He hated Hakkai and Gojyou the way he hated the youkai who'd killed the monks, the youkai they'd spent the whole day hunting in the rain. Was that why he shoved him away and called him a bakazaru? It had to be.  
  
He racked his brains, searching for proof that it was otherwise. Had Sanzou ever said they were friends? He'd never thought to ask. He hadn't known there was a word to describe what he was to Sanzou, or what Sanzou was to him.  
  
Apparently, it was "youkai" and "human".  
  
More memories. That time, that one time he had never told anyone about, not even Hakkai whom he went to for all his questions. When he'd wrapped his arms around Sanzou and begged him never to go away, and Sanzou'd looked down and put his hands on his face and said quietly, You're hurting me.  
  
He'd let go guiltily, expecting the fan, but instead Sanzou had shook his head and said, Not your arms. It's your eyes.  
  
And Sanzou hadn't hit him. Instead, he'd held him, for one precious moment that made the hundreds of years recede in his head, right before he'd kicked him out and shut the door in his face. Sometimes, when Sanzou called him an idiot, or had threatened to kill him more than three times in a day, he brought out that moment and turned it over in his mind, reassuring himself with its warmth and weight.  
  
But now he knew why his eyes hurt Sanzou. It was because they were gold. Like beer in a glass, Gojyou always said. Youkai eyes. And Sanzou hated them.  
  
He walked back to his room, mind numb. The way was blurred. His golden eyes, his stupid youkai eyes, were leaking tears for the first time he could remember. But he paused before the  
  
door, remembering things, conversations other than the one he had just overheard.  
  
*You've been calling me*  
  
His jaw pushed forward. Sanzou had saved him. And if that didn't mean anything to Sanzou, well, it meant something to him. He wasn't going to run away just because it hurt, and besides, he couldn't. He didn't know what to do in a world without Sanzou.  
  
There WAS no world without Sanzou.  
  
He dropped the food and dashed back down the hall, down the stairs and outside. He nearly ran straight into Sanzou, who was coming out of the prison, carrying Gojyou's scythe.  
  
Suddenly his throat was choking itself again. He couldn't quite look at Sanzou's face.  
  
"What's wrong, bakazaru?" Sanzou didn't really sound different, but then again, he'd never known that Sanzou hated him before. He didn't mind unattachment because he could always just attach himself to Sanzou but hate was different.  
  
You might not be able to stick with someone who hated you, even if you were willing. Because they might just _want_ to leave you behind.  
  
"...nothing," he mumbled. He'd known what to say a moment ago, the words had been burning in his mind. He could feel Sanzou lift a brow.  
  
"Sou ka."  
  
He fell in behind the monk as they retraced his steps back to the inn. He followed him right  
  
back to his room, and then stood in the doorway, irresolute.  
  
"Just tell me what it is, bakazaru, I don't have the time or energy to watch you mope." He still  
  
couldn't hear any real hatred. If anything, Sanzou sounded less mad than usual. One final spurt of courage that burst through the choke on his throat. The words still came out half-strangled.  
  
"Ne...Sanzou...you hate youkai, don't you..."  
  
There was a long pause and his throat was closing again. His heartbeat had never seemed so  
  
painful before.  
  
"...Why are you asking?"  
  
His heart twisted. Was that a yes?  
  
"I'm youkai...right? So...do you hate me?"  
  
He opened his eyes after a while where neither of them said anything, and found Sanzou was  
  
looking at him in a way that he couldn't figure out.  
  
"No," the monk said finally, and Goku thought that his heart would surely rise right out of his chest. "No, I don't hate you."  
  
He believed those last words because Sanzou had never lied to him yet, even though they sounded a little odd, as if something were choking his throat too. But it was all alright then, if Sanzou didn't hate him. He'd figure out the rest later.  
  
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and gave Sanzou a tentative grin. And suddenly had it wiped off as he remembered that he'd left the meat buns in his room.  
  
ON THE FLOOR.  
  
He was scrambling back to his room to save them from mice, or Gojyou, when Sanzou's voice rang out, this time unchoked.  
  
"Chotto matte, bakazaru," and he was holding out the scythe, which Goku noticed had been newly cleaned.  
  
"Take this to Gojyou, and tell him that he should get some rest. It's been a long day."  
  
The end.  
  
Hm... On further inspection it's still damned crappy, but *eheh* that doesn't mean I wouldn't like feedback. *sheepish* Argh, maybe I'll just forget about charaterization and just write sweet, satisfying smut. ^^ Blame it on Minekura-sensei, who created such vivid characters with such wretched, gory pasts. *grin* Makes it hard to shove 'em in bed and have them screw like bunnies. 


End file.
